


Haunt

by ArgentGale



Category: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Blow Job, M/M, Tarkin feels things and he doesn't know what these feels are, Tarkin says screw it I'll just blow everything up because this relationship went to hell, orson is a smug lil shit, tarkrennic is the best garbage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 03:13:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10585254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgentGale/pseuds/ArgentGale
Summary: Following the incident at Scarif, Wilhuff Tarkin finds his mind continues to wander to thoughts of Orson.Things were good. Once.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I had this fic languishing in my WIP folder since forever. I have no idea why I never finished it up. Since the Tarkrennic thirst was strong among a few, I decided to publish. Hope you enjoy it!

Afterwards, Tarkin saw him everywhere. 

A flutter of white. The briefest flicker, like lightning, in the periphery of his vision.  He could _sense_ that smirk behind him, and he would whirl, expecting to find those piercing glacial eyes mocking him but only finding steady glow of the consoles and screens.  

Now, settled in the quiet of his personal quarters, Tarkin took a moment to mull over the tumultuous events of the past few days.

Things would be settled and order restored soon.  With the traitorous…princess now captive and secured in a holding cell it was only a matter of time before the plans would once again be secure in Imperial hands and things set right.  The ferocity in her eyes was unsettling but she would be broken soon enough.

Tarkin grimaced. So why were these thoughts concerning Orson chasing themselves ceaselessly in his head?  Krennic was no more.  His untimely demise held no significance.   Any usefulness to the Empire had long ago played out and if anything he had become a rather volatile and annoying hindrance.

Perhaps a glass of brandy would still them.

Drink in hand, he sank into a plush chair with a soft sigh. As soon as the amber liquid touched his lips he felt his mood ease.  As he drank, he reflected, thoughts organizing themselves in a tidy squadron, presenting themselves one by one.

Tarkin again sighed deeply.  Emotions he was not quite sure how to define settled over him.

_It had been good._

_Once._

Yes. It had been good.  For a little while.  He tightened the grip on his glass as a snippet of a memory sluggishly surfaced.

_Orson brushed imaginary dirt from the immaculate white sleeve of his tunic while Tarkin grew increasingly pressed and impatient, his cool demeanor belying his swiftly rising heartrate._

_“Really now. Stop fussing. We are going to be late Orson.”_

_Krennic gave no indication that he had heard Tarkin speaking, once more running his palms down the front of his tunic, smoothing away imaginary wrinkles from the fabric._

_“I said…”_

_“I heard you, Wil. Really. Calm down.  We’ve plenty of time.”_

_Orson turned to meet Tarkin’s gaze, his glacial blue eyes snapping in challenge._

_Tarkin gave a snort of mock disdain and then closed the distance, his fingertips tilting Krennic’s chin up slightly, and none too gently, as he roughly claimed Krennic’s lips._

_A low sound of satisfaction rumbled in Krennic’s throat. He allowed Tarkin’s lips to linger for a moment before giving them a sharp nip and pulling away._

_“Insolent.” Tarkin growled, his eyes clouding with either anger or lust. Perhaps both._

_“Continue with that and we won’t make it at all.  And what would your peers say then, Wil?”  Orson’s tone was light and mocking as he now carefully adjusted his gloves, pulling them snug._

_“We’ll address this further…later.”_

_“Oh…I look forward to it.”_

The memory, duty served, melded back to join its peers.

Another sigh. Another sip of the silken amber liquid. Another memory. Further back. What was it now? Nearly ten years? More?

He remembered the first time. When the whole thing began.  When it was good.  

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Orson Krennic had brought Galen Erso back will all the pomp and pride of a big game hunter parading his trophy to the masses.

There had been gala was to mark this accomplishment. There was plenty of food and drink and boring rounds of lengthy speeches full of technical terms and engineering jargon that, truth be told, bored Tarkin.  He had politely clapped and nodded along with the crowd as each took their place at the podium.

Tarkin was surprised to find there was part of him that felt almost sorry for Galen Erso. He looked out of place, bewildered even, his voice halting as he apologized for his absence.  Vowing to do all he could for the Empire…for the weapon. This magnificent weapon that would bring order to the galaxy.  Galen had then nodded to Krennic, thanking him for helping him come back to his senses. Thanking him for helping him see just how important this work, this project, was.  Commenting that Krennic had always got him out of scrapes and helped him come to his senses.

Tarkin made a note of how hollow Galen’s eyes appeared. 

He was going through the motions. 

Tarkin idly mused that perhaps there should be a bit of extra surveillance on Galen Erso. Just in case.

As he watched the little debacle before him masquerading as a celebratory dinner, Tarkin took care to observe Galen and Orson’s interactions with one another.  He wasn’t certain of what the exact nature of Krennic and Galen’s relationship had been.  It was becoming blatantly obvious it had been much more than a working relationship at one point.  Whatever had happened between those two, Tarkin idly mused to himself, it had ended on a very sour note.  Any time Tarkin happened to cast a glance in Krennic’s direction he noted that the Director seemed preoccupied with his fists clenched and lips compressed into a thin line as he scowled and glared Galen’s direction.  It also did not escape Tarkin’s keen eye that Krennic was downing drink after drink in rapid succession.

Tarkin had got caught up in a conversation with an admiral and he had managed to lose track of the time.  Finally, as the admiral had politely bowed and bid him a very good evening, Tarkin noted that he and Orson were among of handful remaining in the spacious room.

Tarkin later surmised that Krennic had planned it that way.

To be fair, Tarkin may have had a bit too much to drink as well. The droning speeches and dull company seemed to be conducive to overindulging a bit.

Krennic had stepped in front of him, lobbing some half-assed insult, crowing how the Death Star was his crowning glory.  That it was because of him finally finding Galen the weapon would even be operational. The Empire would laud his praises for generations to come. 

Tarkin remembered how the Director’s blood was up, cheeks flushed and eyes snapping. 

Defiance and bravado serving as a mask hiding a very intense hurt.

“You are drunk.” Tarkin’s voice was strong but was far too soft. 

“As are you.”

“Really now Orson this is inappropriate.  I shall see you removed as Director, no matter you managed to finally retrieve Galen Erso.  As you should have, seeing it was you who lost him in the first place.”

Krennic stepped closer.

“Sounds to me you are barking in the dark…Governor.”  Krennic smiled wolfishly. “Look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

“Thought about _what_ , exactly,” Tarkin hissed, shooting a quick glance to see if anybody had noticed their conversation. Nobody had.

“This.”

Krennic’s hands shot out and grabbed Tarkin’s tunic, pulling him towards him in one swift movement.   His mouth claimed the surprised Governor’s, his kiss hot and hungry.  Tarkin had stood there in shock before making a halfhearted attempt to shove Orson away.  It was a lost cause.  Tarkin, himself, had overindulged, and even if he were loath to admit it, had found the attentions of the younger man rather…intoxicating.  With a soft growl, Tarkin allowed himself to sink into the younger man’s needy embrace, reciprocating the kiss with fervor.

_Only one time wouldn’t hurt._

With a rough gasp, Tarkin broke the kiss and uttered only two words, “Not here.”

There had been a brisk walk back to Tarkin’s quarters and as soon as the door hissed shut behind them, Krennic again fell upon Tarkin.  In his eagerness to get Tarkin undressed, he had somehow managed to cut his finger on Tarkin’s rank badge, a few bright drops of blood flecking the stark white of his tunic.

Tarkin’s voice had purred. “Oh…such a pity.  Look how you marred your uniform.  Against regulation. Unacceptable.”

What followed was a hot, hazy blur.

Orson moaning into Tarkin’s mouth. How eager and hungry his mouth had been.  How damn perfect he looked as he sank down to his knees ( _let me show you something, Governor_ ), his velvet tongue lazing over Tarkin’s engorged cockhead before drawing Tarkin’s entire length back, _all the way back_ , to caress and tease that fevered flesh with that damned teasing tongue until Tarkin came with a rough grunt, his hands fisted in Krennic’s hair. 

Orson had looked Tarkin dead in the eye as he swallowed.  Grinned as he allowed Tarkin’s spent cock to slip from his mouth and rising to his feet, bracing his palms on Tarkin’s chest and pushing him back onto the bed. 

“ _Oh we are not finished yet…Governor.”_

Tarkin couldn’t even recall Orson finishing undressing him.  All he knew was Orson was above him and that hot eager mouth again claiming his as he pushed Tarkin’s legs apart, sliding the hard length of his cock up and down Tarkin’s.

“Admit it. You have wanted this for so long.”  Orson’s voice husked as he pushed and teased with a slicked finger causing Tarkin to draw his breath in a sharp hiss before…before shattering completely into oblivion as Krennic withdrew the exploring, teasing finger and then eased his cock into him. Filling him.  

“I want you to tell me how fast…how hard.  Tell me…Wilhuff.  I want you to tell me.”

And Tarkin did, his voice low and commanding as Krennic rutted into him, pushing and pressing, coaxing yet another climax. Only after Tarkin had erupted yet again, his come seeping in thick, hot streamers down his flank, did Krennic let go with a rough snarl as his cock heaved and twitched deep inside, filling Tarkin with his hot seed.   At last spent, Krennic slipped from Tarkin, spent, and sank down to lay beside him. 

Afterwards they had both lain there, panting breaths softening and evening out.  Senses muddled by lust and alcohol returning to normal levelheadedness.

Finally Krennic had broken the yawning silence.  

“I cannot stay.”  

Krennic refused to meet Tarkin’s gaze as he had gathered his uniform which had been strewn throughout Tarkin’s bed chamber.  Tarkin noted angry red scratches that marred the pale skin of Orson’s back.  He had no recollection of making them.

Orson did not say another word as he had stormed from the room and Tarkin’s living quarters.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_It was only a one-time thing._

That was what Wilhuff had told himself anyway. If he repeated it enough it would be so.

 _Just a one-time thing_.

But there had been other times. Far too many.   Tarkin would not say that affection, or even respect, had ever bloomed.  It was more of a mutual need to…use one another. 

And yet Krennic had taken to murmuring “Wil” his voice soft and tremulous, as Tarkin brought him to orgasm.

And Tarkin had taken to sighing, “Cal” as Krennic’s skillful hands and mouth brought him satisfaction, shattering his world into white hot fragments that left him dizzy, breathless, and wanting more.

And many nights Orson would show up unannounced to Wilhuff’s personal quarters to share quiet conversation and wine and soft, lazy kisses that turned hungry, hard, and urgent with need.

But Krennic never stayed.   No matter how many times they had found themselves together.

Wil would open his eyes and find the bed empty and it always stirred an odd sensation in his gut.

He would never admit it was longing or disappointment.

 

Tarkin sighed finding his glass drained, the hour very late.   He wanted to interrogate that bothersome Leia Organa first thing in the morning.

With a weary detachment he changed into his nightclothes, sank into bed and immediately fell into a deep sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~

Someone was there.  He could feel the presence of a body next to his.  The warmth. Weight sagging the mattress.  The steady, deep breathing.

Blood pounded behind Tarkin’s eyes, the beginnings of a roaring headache. 

Just _how_ much did he drink?

He eased his eyes open and saw Orson laying there. Face slack with sleep, hair mussed.  His lips were parted slightly as he breathed deep and even, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Tarkin startled.  His mind scrambled trying to make sense of this sight before him.  He did not cry out but bolted upright. 

Orson stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering and then opening.  He shifted slightly, yawned, and then met Tarkin’s startled gaze.

“Wil.”

“Y...you.  Why are you…you…I don’t understand.” Wilhuff’s composure, while much more solid than most would have managed to maintain, was rattled nonetheless.

Orson only smiled lazily. 

“Cal….” Tarkin offered weakly.

“Now that is a name you haven’t called me in a very, VERY long time.” Orson’s eyebrow quirked upward and his lips gave a ghost of a smile.

“Are you surprised to see me?”

Tarkin said nothing, only shook his head weakly.

“Of course you are. I never stay, correct?”

Tarkin wanted to state that Orson being very dead, and yet was now laying in Tarkin’s bed, was more of a pressing issue.

Orson took Tarkin’s hand.  His fingers were so….cold. Stiff like bone.

“You are freezing, Cal.”

Orson chuckled low.  “Of course I am. I _am_ dead.”

Tarkin continued to hold Orson’s hand, noting the warmth leaching from him. He began to shiver.

“I…I do apologize. What happened was perhaps a bit rash. And unfortunate.”  

Orson managed a shrug. “No you aren’t. You did what you had to do. You eliminated a threat.  I admire your dedication to the cause. I would have done the very same to you. And you know that.”

Orson smiled but it did not reach his eyes.  “I was never good enough but I did my best for the Empire. I did what I needed to do. Perhaps I was even doing it for you, Wil.  I wanted to be worthy in your eyes. But I never was, was I?”  He brought Tarkin’s hand to his lips, brushing them gently over the warm skin.  As he did so, Orson closed his eyes, savoring.

Orson then released Wil’s hand and gave him a crooked grin. “For what it is worth, Wil, I am glad it was you.  I’ll see you again. Soon.”

“I do not understand.”

Another lopsided grin. “You will.”

Wilhuff Tarkin woke with a start, sweat drenching the sheets and his heart hammering. He snapped his head to look beside him gasping, “Cal!”

The bedding was undisturbed.

Orson was not there.

He never stayed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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